The FCO snake has attracted attention chiefly because of its cost and its punning potentiality, with much slithering, scaling and wrestling. In truth, 10 grand is not much for a major taxidermy job, especially as the work appears not to have gone out to tender but been kept "in house" at the Natural History Museum. It is a case of the government paying itself.

More important is what next happens to the beast. It has apparently lived in the Foreign Office library since being donated by a Guyanese bishop c.1892. The significance of the gift has been forgotten, though his name is known to be Albert, presumably to remind Queen Victoria of her much-loved husband. We assume she was not told of the generosity, or at least declined to make Albert's acquaintance.

When I last peeked into this library it was completely empty. I wonder how often it is used by anyone in this digital age. The easy solution would surely be to leave the snake at the Natural History Museum, where reptiles are the biggest draw and Albert might attract celebrity as the most costly anaconda in history. Either way, a public object declared worth conserving and thus of value should surely be on public view.

Modern London is an astonishing place. It is inundated with visitors, domestic and foreign, desperate for things to see. They cram museums and galleries, and batter at the doors of historic buildings. Even the most dreary tower or dungeon commands a £20 entrance fee.

At the same time London probably has more historic buildings, paintings, sculptures and museum objects closed and hidden from view than any other city in Europe. Most of them are in the public sector, in vaults, museum basements and government buildings.

When the sector is under intense cost pressure, and when demand from the paying public is so overwhelming, the mismatch of supply and demand is indefensible. There should be a grand audit of such public holdings, and a campaign to open them to public view. It can now be called the anaconda project.